One moment of silence.

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains

You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.

Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

everyone likes you
because your parents are dead.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord

who has taken away
the lord has taken away

It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.

an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

One moment of silence.

Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord

who has taken away
the lord has taken away

You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

everyone likes you
because your parents are dead.

It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.

an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage

Will you get married?
Yes
When?
Soon
To who?
Me
Who are you?
Papa

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.

You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.

But they recognize you,
The violin of every song,
You hear golden ovations from the dressing room.

“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”

Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.

from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

One moment of silence.

Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord

who has taken away
the lord has taken away

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

Will you get married?
Yes
When?
Soon
To who?
Me
Who are you?
Papa

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

You longed to be like her, whinnying in the storm, swimming the seas of the continent.

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.

an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.

You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.

You pay them in memory, unstable currency of each and every day.

But they recognize you,
The violin of every song,
You hear golden ovations from the dressing room.

“Come on, don’t be like that, let her play with you”

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

One moment of silence.

Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.

an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

One moment of silence.

Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord

who has taken away
the lord has taken away

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

Will you get married?
Yes
When?
Soon
To who?
Me
Who are you?
Papa

You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains

One moment of silence.

it’s not a game. It’s the last time he’ll let us in late.

Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.

I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord

who has taken away
the lord has taken away

Will you get married?
Yes
When?
Soon
To who?
Me
Who are you?
Papa

CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.

although

YOU CAN LOSE IT

an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage

Sara Camhaji

visualize the voice of thought.
think the image of the voice.
provoke destiny. play.
from chance, from the sigh.
understand the force that links
the image to the name.
the name is an image.
the image is a verb.
play. nothing is chance.
destiny is a game.
everything is destiny.

This site is part of the project "DON´T TAKE PHOTOS OF THE LANDSCAPE; TAKE PORTRAITS WITH THE VIEW OF THE BACKGROUND IF YOU LIKE", whose creative object revolves around the phenomenon of memory and its conceptual visualization. Thus, Sara explores the different languages on which the mind reloads its truth and the way it constructs our inner world.
About
SARA CAMHAJI (Mexico City, 1986) is a writer, teacher, and mother. Her work is a natural response to her lived experience and the emotional dimensions she has inhabited. She has told and written stories for her entire life. Poetry—the axis of her exploration—has prompted her to develop new discursive forms in close contact with inner human reality; wrenching, they open themselves to embodiment and appropriation. She has a master’s in creative writing, two children, and two published works: Maleza (Alboroto Ediciones, 2022) and this one. A selection of her poems appeared in the UNAM’s Periódico de Poesía. She received a grant from Asylum Arts in 2017 and was awarded the Peleh Fund arts residency in Berkeley, California, for 2023. Narrated poetry or poetic narrative? Sara writes in the voice of an archive with a voice of its own, like a thinking time machine, or from the dark sincerity of she-who-didn’t-know-she-had-to-live.
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